The Halliwell Died
by Shaitanah
Summary: Painful memories tend to come alive when you least expect it. Please R&R!


**Title**: "The Halliwell Died"

**Author**: Shaitanah

**Rating**: PG-13

**Timeline**: Season 6. After "Witch Stock".

**Summary**: Painful memories tend to come alive when you least expect it. Please R&R!

**Disclaimer**: I don't own _Charmed_. Thanx God! ;) Though I wish I owned Chris.

**A/N**: The 'future' part of this fic takes place when Chris is 14.

* * *

**THE HALLIWELL DIED**

Someday I know I'll find my place,

Someday I know this pain will fade.

Seether. _Plastic Man

* * *

_

It rained heavily for almost two hours. Tight jets beat joyfully in all directions beneath the overcast sky. Chris coughed and covered his mouth with his hand. Superb! Sore throat by the end of school season. Exactly what he wanted. His mother's image popped up in his mind immediately. She'd make him go to bed at once, stuff him with meds, and honey, and Auntie Paige's healing potions – boring! boring! boring! He'd do anything not to fall ill right now.

Chris peered carefully out of the corner. Boys were smoking by the canteen as usual, girls chattered cheerfully under the pentroof, some even shot him inviting glances. He didn't actually feel like joining either of them.

Someone nudged him lightly, and Chris, being jumpy as he was, could swear the person wanted to give him a heart-attack. He turned around slowly, hoping it wasn't anyone of the school infamous bullies from final grades. Thank God, it turned out to be his skinny, geeky pal Michael who grinned at him like a madman.

"Wussup, Lone Gunman?"

"Never – do – this – to – me – again!" Chris let the words drop listlessly.

"You should have seen your face!"

Chris rolled his eyes. Why talk to idiots? He smiled heavily at that thought. Wyatt's quote, precisely. He wondered how much Wyatt he had in him. Why did it show only in such stupid circumstances? Why could he not be 'the second Wyatt' to his father? That way Leo would have been very proud of him.

Stop! He shouldn't start it again. Not now. Don't let the thoughts of Leo spoil his already-not-so-light mood!

"So why are you alone?" Mike inquired.

"Cuz I like it".

"That's a stupid thing to do! See I'm alone cuz noone likes me. But _you_ have no reason to stay away from company. B'sides, rumour has it Tracy Phinnigan has the hots for you, so–".

"So _what_?" Chris fired off. "Would you ever date someone with cow-like IQ and named 'Tracy' in addition?"

"Err… hey, cows are cool animals!"

Chris chuckled, despite himself. One thing he was really fond of Mike for was that the guy could always make him laugh, no matter what. He opened his mouth to reply when a sharp sting of pain shot through his entire body all of a sudden. Gasping for air, Chris fell down on his knees. Mike jumped away from him and rushed to the main building to call for help. Some students ran up to him. Chris's heart beat so hard it seemed it was about to explode. His chest ached immensely. Heavy rain whipped him with its jets. Saliva mixed with blood dripped from his lip. When did he have time to bite through it? His vision became hazy, and he passed out.

Chris woke up in school doctor's office. The first thing he saw was a rosy-cheeked nurse fussing over him. He fought off her hand instinctively and sat up.

"No, Mr Halliwell, you're still to weak, you need to rest", the doctor said, filling in his chart.

"I need to go home". Chris's voice was hoarse, sounded like a whisper, but still, he spoke confidently, strongly convinced it was the very right thing to do.

The doctor glanced at him above his round glasses and protested peacefully: "Unfortunately, I can't allow that. Not now, at least. You see, we tried to access your parents which is an impossible thing to do these days. Then we tried to reach some of your relatives, but noone can come now and collect you, so–".

"So I will have to stay until _someone_ comes?" Chris yelled. It didn't feel right. He had to go home right that instant and for God's sake he would! "I'm perfectly capable of walking home myself! It's not that far!"

"Sit down, Mr Halliwell", the doctor demanded when Chris sprang up on his feet, ready to prove his point. "It wouldn't kill you to wait a little longer".

Chris balled his fists. It would kill somebody else, he assumed with painful conviction. An idea came swiftly. "Could I at least use a bathroom?" he asked grudgingly. The doctor nodded and waved at the nurse to escort the patient there. Chris couldn't shake off the feeling he was a prisoner.

In the bathroom he opened the switch and locked himself in a cabin. The water flowed with a hushed noise, like a little cascade. The boy orbed out in a flash of bright blue sparks. His strength left him during the flight, so he fell down in the street, happy enough noone had seen it. He had to get home as quickly as possible. Something had happened, he was sure of that.

It went on raining though it cleared up occasionally, allowing a small glimpse of sun. Chris ran fast, halfway closer to the manor now. Prescott-street, a pink house. Wyatt always laughed at it. Behind the sisters' backs, of course. Oh, their little angel never allowed himself nasty comments in their presence, but Chris knew that he hated that terrible color as much as he hated it when Mom called him 'sweetie', or when Dad trained him to become a perfect whiteligher. 'Perfect whitelighters are _dead_ whitelighters!' Wyatt laughed at the controversial phrase he really liked to use when complaining to Chris about Leo's obsession.

Puffing and panting, Chris crashed into the hall of the manor and froze in place. The door was broken, splashes of blood, human and demonic alike, everywhere. Black slime clung to his boots. He shook it off, feeling nauseteous, afraid to go any further. But he had to. So he moved to the living room just to see the remnants of the furniture scattered all around the room, scorched spots on the wallpaper, piles of shattered glass in the corner.

Panic-stricken, Chris rushed upstairs. His heart was like an overheated engine, ready to go out in flames. He burst into a room where sounds of speech came from and stood stock-still indoors. The room was crowded with people dressed in various uniforms who dashed about the lodging armed with brushes, cameras, notepads. Darryl Morris was standing by the window, engrossed in a conversation with Wyatt and another tall, good-looking man who Chris recognized as his grandfather. It was noisy in the room, but deafening silence enveloped the boy. Wyatt moved his head, and his eyes met Chris's eyes, wide with fear. He pulled Victor by the sleeve lightly. Darryl nodded with apprehension.

"Fine, we'll continue later", he said, uncomfortable at having to maintain his reserved, 'official' appearance. "Don't touch anything yet, okay? Just leave it for the evidentiary team to examine".

Wyatt made a step towards his younger brother. Numb with frustration and disbelief, Chris was still standing on the doorstep. Victor shook his head as if saying; let me do it. He came close to the boy then, bent down and whispered softly: "Chris, we need to talk".

* * *

'O'kay, let's see', Paige thought, checking her purse. Right, goodbye to that terrific scarlet blouse, see you later to one awesome black skirt the hem of which was neatly trimmed with glossy beads, farewell to a gorgeous royal blue tank top. Financial situation was pretty tight. But! – hello to a skin-tight white corset top decorated with black lace. She definitely could afford that one! Moreover, it was her responsibility to buy it right now in order to impress Richard the following evening.

Paige tried it on. It fit perfectly. She whirled around in place, looking at her reflection with admiration. Yep, exactly what she wanted.

Having freed herself from the grip of the corset, she put her bra back on. The curtain stirred and became slightly discolored at the familiar flash of blue sparks.

"Uh-oh, haven't see anything!" she heard Chris yell. He hopped back before she had enough time to hit him with her handbag. Not that she minded him watching, but he should have still warned her.

"Get out, insolent freak!" she said in an icy tone, sounding a hundred times angrier than she really felt. At least, she got him scared. That was funny. "Now what's the rush?"

"Your sisters need help. You know, the demon–", Chris looked around and caught a consultant's suspicious stare, "–stration thing. That's an emergency".

Paige dived out of the fitting room, fully dressed this time. Something told him she was truly mad now. Chris took a few steps back cautiously.

"We agreed to no _demon_strations today! It was supposed to be my day-off which meant to end as a romantic night with Richard! You are not making me kick those Underworld asses today, no, sir! Hey, what are you doing? Chris, let me go! Damn it, Chris!"

If that was the only way… Chris shuddered. Phoebe and Piper could have already been dead. He shoved Paige back into the fitting room, closed the curtains and orbed in spite of her loud protests.

Then their time stopped…

Coming to senses was hurting and blissful at the same time. Paige opened her eyes and coughed intensely, feeling overheated sand everywhere underneath her limp body. She was glad when it turned out that she could move. She sat up and took a deep breath. The air was so hot it burnt.

The desert was all around her, colorful dunes and streamy sandy hillocks beneath the deep blue sky. Boundless pools of sand impossible to locate anywhere near the city swallowed Paige.

She got up carefully and hurried up to Chris. He had just regained consciousness and was looking around with the same foolish expression she had probably been wearing for the past two minutes.

"We're screwed", Chris muttered. And the worst thing: so were Piper and Phoebe.

And damn it all, for once, _he – didn't – care_. Didn't _want_ to care. Paige spoke in high-pitched voice, the very indicator of her emotions, but he didn't – couldn't – listen.

Chris fell down, buried his face in the slope of the bright-yellow dune, blinded by unimaginable pain. Just like _that_ day…

He wept. No, they should have been still alive. Otherwise, he wouldn't be here anymore. An entire pack of 'what-if's' popped up eagerly. What if his mistake in orbing threw them out into a timeless space where no lines of their life existed? What if it was some deserted alternative reality? What if–?

Paige carried on shaking him by the shoulder for a while, calling his name.

"Sorry", he managed to pronounce, "headrush".

"What is this place?" Paige wondered as they started moving away from the dune in search of an exit.

"Soul Sucking Desert, I take it", Chris let slip carefree. Paige stopped abruptly.

"The Underworld's infamous Soul Sucking Desert? Tell me it's a joke".

He shrugged impassively. "Some other dimension of the Underworld. The good thing is we seem to be alone here. But the bad thing is that if it's really so, we have fat chance getting out of here".

"Thank you", Paige muttered irritably. Chris tripped over something and was hardly able not to lose his balance. "You're okay?"

"I wish you'd stop asking me this!" the young whitelighter blurted out. Curious: she'd never seen him that explosive. "Honestly, I'm _fine_! Ever since Bianca… ever since I came back from the future, you keep tormenting me. I don't want that psycho-crap! If I need to talk, I'll find someone. Please, LEAVE ME ALONE!"

* * *

Wyatt came out on the roof of the manor where, he guessed, his brother was supposed to be. Indeed, Chris was sitting on the roof, staring coolly at the neighbourhood. He acknowledged Wyatt with a faint nod.

The youth took a seat by his side. Chris regarded him quickly, paid notice to a scarlet scratch across his right cheek and occasional bruises here and there.

"I don't wanna talk if that's what you're here for", he said firmly. Wyatt nodded. "How did it happen?"

"I'm ashamed to admit, but I actually didn't see anything. I got knocked down at the very beginning. When I woke up, Paige was already dead… Mom & Phoebe fought really hard. Upstairs where you found Morris's team. A demon conjured up a giant energy ball. Phoebe couldn't dodge it. He threw her into the wall and…"

He sobbed violently and tried to push the tears back. Chris kept looking at him wordlessly.

"Mom managed to blow them all up. I ran up to her, hoping we could still orb out of the house. Something exploded beside us. The flash drove her blind. We ran out in the hall, then something attacked me. I toppled over in the stairs, hearing Mom scream behind me. I passed out again".

"Don't", Chris cut him off. He needn't have heard more. Rage boiled within him. He sprang up on his feet and yelled hoarsely: "And where the hell was Leo? Where is he _now_? Why wasn't he here to save them? It's his fault, his alone!"

"Chris…" Wyatt whispered, outraged, and let his voice trail off gradually. "Don't you understand? The demons slaughtered them–".

"I don't blame the demons, Wyatt! They did what they always do. I blame Leo!"

The blonde-haired boy turned his back on his brother, incapable of watching Chris's beautiful face transform into a mask of hatred and despair mixed with a desire of vengeance. This was not happening! It couldn't be! Not now, not when they needed to stick together more than anything.

Chris shook his head. "No", he said, guessing his brother's thoughts. "I can't".

* * *

The sun melted the sand beneath their feet. They breathed slowly in – the smallest amount of air they could afford – in order to keep the remaining water in their organisms. It reminded Paige strongly of some sci-fi novel she had read a long time ago. Her skin leaked with sweat, her legs ached, unaccustomed to moving in the sand, but she followed Chris steadily. It amazed her how the whitelighter didn't seem to experience any difficulties at all – as if he used to travel the desert a billion times before.

She dug the nails into the softness of her palms. Little pain kept her going, reminding her she was still alive.

"Can I ask you something?" she said, catching up with Chris's pace. It was a foolish thing to do. She knew people shouldn't talk in the desert for the same reason: not to squander the water. But she felt she had to communicate with anyone, even their neurotic, uptight whitelighter.

"Shoot", Chris said as if he didn't care at all. "If it's not an 'are-you-okay' type of question".

Paige giggled quietly. "Nope. I'm not a suicidal type, honey!" She plucked up all her courage and asked shyly: "Do you miss anyone in the future? Your friends or family?" Huh! A proper form should have been: do you _have_ anyone in the future?

He didn't answer. Paige could see his back grow tense as he continued his goal-directed walk towards the edge of this ghastly world. It didn't surprise her. Truth be told, she never expected him to answer. That was Chris, the twitchy guy who liked to leave things unsaid.

"I miss my Mom", his muffled voice followed. "Terribly. And my brother, too. Before he became… Before he had sort of a mental disorder".

Paige caught a glimpse of indecision in his face. He hesitated: should he tell her anything at all? She didn't push. It must have been pretty hard to be alone here when you had a family back in the future…

"Hang on!" she fired off. "I thought you said there were no families in the future at all".

"Do you always have to nag at what I say?" Chris asked, and she was astounded by the tiredness in his voice. He turned around to face her. His face was pale and thin. He needed more sleep, no doubt of that. "Why can't you just accept me, regardless?" he spoke in a cold, expressionless voice, not hoping to get an understanding. "I'm only trying to help, but you always have to look under cover, to seek falsehood and deception in my simple actions. Have you ever thought about my reasons, Paige? Open your eyes! I'm trying to SAVE WYATT! You know perfectly well that I don't have to do this".

He had a point, but then again… "Why do it at all, Chris? Do you want us to be grateful for all eternity? To owe you anything?"

"Damn it, you are _not_ listening!" he spat at her.

They went on without further argument. Chris suppressed his anger violently. For once he wished it to be true: they shouldn't owe him anything! He wished he didn't have to save his brother, he wished Wyatt _weren't his brother_…

"I didn't know you had any siblings", Paige began quietly, not eager to annoy him again.

He snorted. "You used to be the only child. What difference does it make? Which one is better?"

Paige smiled at her thoughts. She never felt lonely, being used to be the only child. Everything changed when she met the Halliwell sisters. It didn't get better or worse, just very-very _different_. She looked at Chris again. Judging by his temper, his brother must have treated him roughly. He probably was that typical bully of an older brother who always stole the baby's toys and told their parents tales about Chris. But… Chris's eyes had grown so sad now that he was consumed by memories.

Paige opened her mouth to ask another wary question, but she ran out of time. A wave of sand crushed down on them all of a sudden and buried them in its greedy depths. The last weak thoughts expired from her brain.

* * *

The rain wassymbolic to Chris. The skies wept, mourning the demise of the Charmed Ones.

The boy was oblivious to the idea of attending the funeral. It was set tomorrow. Victor took it upon himself to get all things arranged properly, so the Halliwell brothers (_the Halliwell orphans_, more likely) had only to show up there to demonstrate whatever one demonstrates attending a funeral of a family member. Chris hated it. He hated himself for not being brave enough to go there and bear it all in silenced and respectful sorrow. After all, Mom did visit Aunt Prue's funeral, though it was really hard for her. But he just couldn't.

Back on the starlit rooftop after their small confrontation with Wyatt, Chris looked down and saw Victor see off Darryl who came to talk to the family as a friend now, not policeman. Wyatt was there too. Darryl shook his hand, treating him as a grown up already, albeit the youth was just sixteen. Chris clenched his teeth. Not fair. Wyatt was so calm, so centered, he knew exactly what to say and when to talk or keep his mouth shut. He acted like an adult all the time. He was perfect in every way. If they only knew…

But no, Chris thought. That Wyatt who secretly mocked the color of the house walls, who got off with a jest to father's teachings was no more. He was replaced by a solemn youth, a true protective older brother. A tragedy killed not only Mom, but Wyatt too. At least, one joyous half of him. And Chris envied him because he knew: everyone will get used to that, they'll learn to love him again, ignoring the poor teenager, so full of bitterness and grief. Wyatt grew up over that night, leaving his pain in a pool of blood on the living room floor. But Chris was still a kid, and God, he wished he was as strong as Wyatt was.

"Hey", Wyatt spoke behind his back. The next thing he knew was his brother's warm hand on his shoulder. "Thought I mind find you here".

"Smart, Sherlock!"

Wyatt said nothing. Chris frowned. Wasn't it his ultimate goal to make him attend that funeral? Let's see how he deals with it.

But Wyatt still remained silent, scrutinizing the stars closely. Chris examined his face. It was white as a piece of chalk, tired and emotionless, but no trace of tears. He didn't cry. He didn't shed one damn tear!

Tears streamed over Chris's face in advance for both of them.

* * *

_HE DID CARE!_

He couldn't let her die!

Even if Piper and Phoebe were already dead. _Especially_ if they were dead!

He could tell what she was thinking before the wave covered them: family is important. If there was a single person who would understand him, it was someone from the family. He knew it was banal and sweet beyond any measure, but he could deal with this pain just like that – by being so very banal right now!

Chris fought his way up through tons of sand, then dug back in. horrible thoughts coursed through his brain: what if it was an infamous soul sucking wave? What if he'd only find Paige's lifeless body, deprived of its soul?

Chris scattered piles of sand in all directions with frenzy, just wishing he was not too late. She died once, and he wasn't there to stop it. He couldn't afford to lose her again.

'She's not Mom', a nasty voice told him. 'Mom is dead anyway – and that's because of you! And now you killed Paige too. What good are you as a saviour? You can't even orb properly!'

Chris growled, feeling ice spreading through his chest. It was the most unpleasant feeling in the world, the deadliest killer – _despair_.

His hand came across something soft and alive in the sand. He pulled the body upwards and smiled through tears: it was Paige, and she _was alive_. She opened her eyes and stared at him hazily. He cleaned her face from the sand and chuckled when she uttered in a hoarse whisper: "That was lame shopping!"

Another half an hour passed. Paige got up finally, convinced she could walk. He held her by the hand as she made the first few steps, determined to carry on without complaints.

"Thanks for saving my life", Paige said. "I was almost–".

"I did what my responsibility was to do", Chris cut her off and added for safety. "I am your whiteligher, after all".

She smiled, but let the topic drop. She too was pretty tired of digging into Chris's enigmatic 'past/future'.

The Soul Sucking Desert was not that hard to surmount. They had been assaulted by the sand twice more, but they reached the portal quite soon. Exhausted, but happy to have stayed alive, they returned to the manor only to find Phoebe and Piper clean up after the '_demon_stration'.

"I thought you two were in _grave danger_", Paige drew out, watching them with sour expression. Come to think of it, she could have still been shopping for Richard (speaking of which, she'd probably have to cancel the date) and avoided that little adventure in the Underworld!..

"We were", shrugged Piper. "As always".

Paige flashed Chris a withering look. The whiteligher grimaced sweetly as if saying: oh well, I had no idea – and orbed out. Paige shook her head. Can the leopard change his spots?..

Back in the club, Chris smiled. He would always force them to hunt demons – as long as it was necessary. At least, he saved one Halliwell today.

* * *

Wyatt wiped Chris's face dry, erasing all traces of tears. The boy's cheeks were burning. He blushed and forced a fake smile.

"You don't have to pretend with me", Wyatt said. "I never did with you".

That was true. Chris put his head on Wyatt's shoulder.

"You and me, we'll be together forever, won't we, Wy?"

"Of course, we will. You know, you don't have to go there. I'll make it up for you".

Chris muttered something inaudible. Time to grow up. He'd be there.

"We'll always be together", Wyatt murmured as if tasting the words at the back of his throat. Chris was lucky he didn't see his face at the moment. It was utterly unreadable, dark and ghostly pale. His features sharpened, and his eyes held no trace of innocence any longer.

Perhaps it was the day more than three Halliwells died.

_June 28 – July 3, 2006_


End file.
